“Do you fish?” I ask at random, and by the look on his face, he is surprised by my question. However, I was just reading about the amazing seafood and ocean lifestyle, and I can’t imagine a man like Dante doing something so domesticated as fishing.

He tilts his head, and his lips form a smile. “I like to take the boat out on the water. Leo and I often spend time fishing when we are there.” His eyes glisten at the memories, and I can tell it is a special place for him. I wonder again about Leo’s mom, who she is and where she is. Dante hasn’t mentioned her, and I don’t want to ask.

“Leo is lucky to have you,” I say genuinely, and he huffs.

“Did your parents never take you fishing, Little Red?” He sounds playful, and that makes me smile.

“No, I never knew my father, and my mother was sick for a long time before she died. Fishing was not something I ever got to do,” I answer honestly, bringing our lighthearted conversation crashing back down into reality with a thud.

“What was wrong with her?” Dante asks, his eyes turning serious, staring right at me.

“Cancer. But to be honest, I am not sure if it was the cancer that killed her or the drugs.” I don’t miss the slight flinch he makes or the stiffness in his shoulders that reappears. “She wasn’t really the mom I remember since she began treatment. She became addicted, and couldn’t go a day without something in her system. To start with, it was to ease the pain, but it soon turned into more than that for her. I worked to pay her medical bills, which included her medication. I worked every day for years just for her to get her drugs. In the end, she loved the drugs more than she loved me, and she told me so each and every day of her last few months.” I don’t catch the tear before it drops from my eye.

I am sad, but also angry. Angry at her, at myself, at the situation. When you grow up poor, it is really, really hard to keep your head above water and working 16-hour days, seven days a week becomes the norm. My life has been tough, and although I never want pity or charity, I need to rest. My body, mind, and soul are weary.

“Drugs change a person, Little Red. They are not the people we thought they were before. They will do anything for their next hit. Lies become their truths, but those lies bury them in the end. They become dangerous to themselves and to others, and if they can’t get better, then we need to let them go.” I can’t help but feel like he is speaking from experience.